Mio protettore
by DiamondintheDark
Summary: He's never realized exactly how many males there are in Death City until now. SoMa oneshot


**Author's notes: Soul x Maka. What else is there to say? **

**The title "Mio protettore" means "my protector" in Italian**.

**DiamondintheDark**

They've returned back to the apartment after a long, grueling mission and all he wants to do is sleep. Maka, on the other hand, fingers through what money they have. She asks him if he wants to go buy groceries with her and when she hears a tiny mumbled "no", she smiles and lets herself out. He usually goes with her. This time, he's exhausted. For a supposedly "easy" two star team mission, his energy has depleted severely.

It doesn't take him much to fall asleep, and when he opens his eyes again, four hours has passed. Still, he's tired and grouchy and doesn't understand how in Shinigami's good graces is it that Maka was able to gather the energy to go buy groceries when he realizes she's been gone for too long. Before long, he's rushing out the door, his bike's keys in tow, mind running at full speed. It doesn't take so long just for groceries. Usually at most, an hour. Then again, he's usually with her.

His mind is going on a sugar high, grabbing the worst case scenarios from his imagination. What if something happened to her? He'd never forgive himself. Flashes of Maka being abducted, attacked by a Kishin egg, even _raped_-

No. He stops himself, letting the terror dissolve away. Maka's not like that. She's the strongest girl he knows. She won't allow herself to be raped. Even if she was ganged up on, she'd fight her way out. She's his meister.

Within seconds, he's at the tiny Death City Market, having gone way past any speed limits. No doubt he might be fined for that. He'll worry about those matters later. They're hardly trivial. Maka's more important than a couple over the limits.

He turns the engine off so fast he questions himself fleetingly if it's not idling when he spots a large group of males- boys and men, some meisters and weapons, too. And it wasn't like there were just 20 males there. It seemed like all of the male population in Death City decided to pop by down here and chat with his meister.

He's never realized exactly how many males there are in Death City until now.

He's curious as to what they're all circled around when his evil conscious resurfaces and the horror of Maka being raped comes to mind. Stiffly, he strides over.

To his surprise, there in the center is Maka. He's relieved that there seems to be no scratch on her, no bruises or signs that she might've been attacked. But he doesn't like how some of the men are looking at her, and he _really_ doesn't like how they're all circled around her. Some of them give him a bad vibe. A territorial feeling grows in him, and eventually, his fists clench.

He's about to break through, tear Maka away from those leeches, and go back home when she laughs. He freezes, and listens in on the conversation.

He hears how many of them often saw her throughout Death City and Shibusen- _with_ her weapon. A smug smile spreads across his face when he hears the tones of disgust and jealously being thrown around. He's Maka's weapon. Hers and hers only. He wouldn't want to be someone else's.

He frowns and his jealously grows when she's told how they all wanted to approach her, talk to her, hold her hand, be her friend, hang out with her, laugh with her, go on a _date_ – ! – but they were all afraid because of her weapon and even more, her father. For once, he's glad that the older Death Scythe has some power over these morons. As if he'd let Maka be near them!

Maka smiles and takes it all in stride, making small comments, but never once utters a word against him. He's glad, and decides to make his grand entrance.

"Yo, Maka." She turns around, a look of surprise on her face.

"Soul! How was your sleep?" a few males snickered at this, muttering, "what a big baby" but shuts up when his blood red eyes meet theirs.

"Good. You done shopping?" She nods, and starts for the cashiers.

"Let me pay, and then we can go." Once she's out of earshot, he turns around and glares at them.

"If you dare lay one finger on her, I will personally make sure you will never have kids- or have any more. You hear me?" He practically growls at them, and one, a pubescent boy, almost wet himself in fear. There's nothing more terrifying than a _very _angry Death Scythe weapon with eerie eyes and strikingly white hair that reminds you of a devil glaring your way. A few of the men even take some steps back.

Quickly, his face falls back into a mask of ease.

"Good", he speaks, but the dangerous tone is inevitable in his words.

By the time she's done paying, and all their groceries are brought towards his bike, she smiles at him. He frowns. He doesn't like this smile of hers. It's the confessing one.

"What?" he grumbles, attempting to ignore her bright beam aimed his way.

"Nothing." She says, toying with him. But he doesn't need to ask. He knows her well. She'll tell.

The ride back home is quiet, other than the low hum of the bike as they weave in and out of the streets. He turns the engine off, and her hands are still holding onto his waist.

"Er, Maka?"

"Yeah?"

"We're home now. You can get your hands off…"

She smiles, but he can't see it. "You know what, Soul?"

He raises an eyebrow, but she can't see it. But she knows he's doing it.

"I'm glad you're my weapon."

"Uh, ok…"

She continues on, bypassing his intelligent response. "And I'm glad I'm your meister." At this, she wraps her arms around him, her face turning slowly into a shade of red. His does as well. Flaming as bright as when the time Spirit found highlights decided to experiment on the young scythe's brilliant white hair.

Moving her mouth near his ear, she whispers, "Because I know that you'll protect me."

And she gives him a peck on the cheek, a ghost of a smile playing with the corners of her lips.

And Soul Eater Evans decides now is probably not the time to tell her Black Star's peeking at them from around the corner, a video camera in hand and a wide smile plastered on his face, blackmail glittering in his eyes.

Easily said, the young assassin sports a rather intimidating black eye the next day, along with camera destroyed beyond repair.

So when students wonder who could've given such an impressive bruise to the blue loudmouth, a certain Death Scythe discretely hides his hands behind his back, a small grin on his face.

After all, there were some memories in there that he'd like to keep.


End file.
